As per last time out, this one is another reunion gig from a band I loved in my mid-teens, and another big tick in my “Bands To See” list, only on a slightly different scale…! I fell in love with the dark, itchy post-punk musings of Bauhaus after hearing their stellar, savage cover – nay, demolition – of T Rex’ glam classic “Telegram Sam” at the School Youth Club disco in 1980; missed them first time around as they evolved from art-school rockers with a dark, vampiric lyrical twist, into black-clad initiators of the 80’s Goth movement, before splitting up; then missed a couple of subsequent reunions, however happily catching up with mainman Peter Murphy as he celebrated their 35th anniversary splendidly, with solo interpretations of his previous charges’ material (June 2013, gig 883). After that one, it felt as if that was the closest I’d get to seeing Bauhaus (and let’s face it, that was pretty close, so no real complaints), until…
Concerning
news emanated from across the pond in August 2019, with Peter Murphy suffering
a heart attack during a gig in New York. Happily, he recovered swiftly, then
even better news emerged, as a Bauhaus reunion gig, featuring all 4 original
members, was announced for that Autumn in Los Angeles! Please do a UK one,
please do a UK one, I chanted pleadingly… and prayers and incantations were
answered, as Bauhaus announced a one-off UK gig for the following April. Then
that bloody Covid hit, forcing 3 postponements, ultimately to this day,
fittingly one day before Hallowe’en. A sudden back pain the previous day briefly
threatened to put a spanner in the works, but an emergency trip to the
chiropractor set me right, and saw old school friend Keith picking myself up at
3.30 for a trip oop the Smoke, along with occasional gig buddy Debs (the punk
queen of the ‘don) and her bloke Brad, all black clad and gothed up for the
occasion. Me, I went with the red velvet shirt and red suede creepers – just to
be different!
An
entertaining drive up, avoiding the inevitable M4 road closures, got us to the
Pally for 6, queueing up for 6.30 entry and grabbing a drink in the huge ornate
bar/eaterie area, people watching and occasionally meeting folks (Debs
inevitably knowing lots of people, and myself running into Lev 3 mate Colin).
Quite the event, this, and this crowd of first-time-round post-punk/Goth devotees
and keep-the-faith young emo/darkwave types had dressed to the nines for the
occasion too, the place occasionally resembling a Tim Burton steampunk film set!
Keith and I wandered into the huge, dome-ceilinged main auditorium, grabbing a
spot 1/4 of the way back, house left, and catching the last knockings of
introspective synth-led support, young Berliners Hope, at whom I’d snarkily shouted,
“play something depressing!”, so they did!
We
were then subjected to some between-bands jarring white noise over the P.A.
system, as the place filled up (the bloke behind me, on his return from the
bar, remarking, “is that bloody jumbo jet ever going to take off?!”). Then the
lights appropriately smashed to black at 8.40, as a squalling single guitar
note heralded the arrival of the band, Murphy emerging last and doffing his
wide-brimmed hat to the crowd, before doomily intoning the lazy, languid lyric
to opener “Rosegarden Funeral Of Sores” over Kevin Haskin’s tinny snare snap. “Double
Dare”’s tumbling drum and dissonant riff again saw an authoritative vocal performance
from Murphy, already strutting the stage and throwing angular, dramatic shapes,
and stretching the “I… I… I…” notes, before the song ultimately collapsed in on
itself (as a lot of Bauhaus numbers seem to do!).
Bauhaus,
as often is the case with true innovators, were sonically less extreme than
their Goth successors, with occasionally stark and bleak, almost minimalistic post-punk
guitar forming the base of their sonic template, underpinning Murphy’s dark,
sinister vocals and creepy, black and white horror movie lyrical imagery. So
the stark sonar beep of “Spy In The Cab” was stripped bare and haunting,
feeling almost like a companion piece to The Associates’ similarly austere “Q
Quarters”, and a welcome “Terror Couple Kill Colonel”, always one of my faves,
was equally musically gaunt, driven by the angular drumbeat and Murphy’s
onstage theatrics, posing under a white spotlight which gave him an
appropriately deathly pallor.
That
said, the performance seemed a little introspective and occasionally
understated overall, Murphy’s posing and preening notwithstanding, with the band
taciturn throughout (no numbers being introduced – no need for this knowledgeable
crowd, I suppose…) and even Murphy restricting his communication to a couple of
brief monologues. Also, the sound occasionally seemed a little disjointed and
distant from our spot; an occupational hazard, I guess, with a venue this size.
Little matter; the captivating Murphy was full value for money nonetheless, and
it was honestly just great to hear “live” the likes of the languidly funky “Kick
In The Eye”, the squalling “In The Flat Field”, and the bell-jar echo of “The Passion
Of Lovers”, the latter seeing Murphy conduct an unexpected and impromptu
singalong. And, of course, the inevitable “Bela Lugosi’s Dead”, all stretched,
meandering and gloomy, the audience suddenly holding masses of phones aloft like
black orchids reaching full bloom to record the moment, as Murphy coaxed harsh,
caustic white noise from a small synth.
The
pounding drums and descending riff of a thrilling set closer “Dark Entries” was
my highlight of the night, the sound totally sorted for once, although a
grandiose encore march through Bowie’s “Ziggy Stardust”, following a slightly
ragged and messy “Telegram Sam”, ran it close. Finally, a mournful and elegiac “All
We Ever Wanted Was Everything”, preceded by Murphy’s fulsome compliments on the
size of tonight’s crowd, brought this near 1 ½ hour’s revisitation of old
haunts to a close. Despite a couple of reservations, a fine performance
overall, with Murphy once again a true star, thankfully showing no effects from
those health issues.
I
grabbed a pic and a word with the excellent Desperate Journalist’s drummer Kaz
(whom I’d noticed a couple of rows in front of me!), then slow egress from the
venue and even slower from the car park, combined with a nonetheless equally
chatty drive home via the M40 and A420 to avoid M4 closures, didn’t get us home
until the other side of 1. Yikes! But well worth it for excellent company and a
fine showing from another favourite from my misspent youth. Thanks, Bauhaus,
and stay well Peter Murphy!
